Full of Grace
by JeannieMac
Summary: Goren and Eames... finding light in the darkness, in the aftermath of The War At Home and Privilege. SPOILERS for those episodes abound. B and A in an established relationship, because I can't seem to do anything else.


**FULL OF GRACE **

**by JeannieMac  
**

_Disclaimer: A__ll publicly recognizable characters and places are the property of Universal Studios, NBC and Dick Wolf et al. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment, not for money. No infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended._

* * *

**Author's Note: I suppose this is really a post-ep for "The War At Home"…but it was inspired by two things in "Privilege": the way Eames couldn't look Ross or Goren in the eye when Goren was telling the boss that everything was fine…and the final party-crashing scene with Eames in her pretty black dress. I'm hoping that now that I've written it, my brain will be able to focus on chapter 7 of "Till I Am Myself Again." (sigh)**

* * *

"_What the hell was that back there, Bobby? You want to throw it all away – look, I know – _

"_Back off."_

Every part of his life is unraveling, and the strangest thing about it is that he doesn't feel anything. He watches himself flail desperately in all directions, trying to fix what's wrong and failing entirely – hell, making things worse in several instances – but he can't bring himself to _care_ anymore. His mother, Eames, Ross, Dockerty…all of them clamouring at him in their need and anger and concern…and all he wants is silence. Body, mind and soul – he can't recall ever being so utterly exhausted in his life.

In the end, Ross reams him out via voicemail for his lack of professionalism – but declines to fire him, ordering him off on Family Care Leave instead. He sleeps for most of the first three days, alone in his apartment with the blinds drawn and the phone turned off. On the fourth day, he gets up, feeling as though he's been hit by a truck, and drives back out to Carmel Ridge. Because it seems he can't just let go, after all.

Appointments, consultations, tests and more tests …He writes lists and does research and makes phone call after phone call, speaks reassuringly to his mother and stubbornly to her doctors, tries again to get Michael to visit. He concentrates on getting through one day at a time, and at night, he sleeps as though he's been drugged.

He doesn't talk to Alex, except to tell her where he's going when he leaves the city. She lets him go without comment, and doesn't try to call while he is gone.

After two weeks, his mother seems to be on a more even keel, relieved to have gotten through at least one round of tests. They're waiting for results and more appointments, he has checked off all the most immediate things on his many lists, and he doesn't know what else to do…so he calls Ross and says he'll be coming back to work.

_Are you sure? _the captain asks. _Yes, sir. Things are… under control, and I think I should save as much of my Family Care Leave as I can, for – for the future._

Alex picks him up on the way to the scene of Isabel Harrington's murder.

"Hey," she says guardedly, watching as he folds himself into the passenger seat. "How are you?"

"I'm – doing better. Thanks."

"Your mom…is she all right?"

"Yeah. She's doing better too."

"Good."

He turns sideways in his seat and gazes at her for a long moment. _What about you, Alex? How badly did I hurt you?_

"You look tired," he says instead, softly. She lifts her chin.

"My partner's been away. I've been working really hard," she replies evenly.

_I'm sorry,_ he wants to say, but it seems so utterly inadequate that the words stick in his throat. _I'm sorry. I knew you were angry and disappointed and worried…and still I couldn't find the wherewithal to do…anything._

She contemplates him for a second, her gaze unreadable, and then turns back to the wheel. They drive to the crime scene in silence.

"Everything's good," he says to the Captain, later that day. But out of the corner of his eye, he watches Alex fidget even as she nods in agreement, and thinks _No, it isn't. _

Still, they work the case and it actually goes well. They fall into step so easily and comfortably that he could almost believe things are fine…except for the silences that fall when they're not discussing the Harringtons, and his own instinctive awareness of the distance that Alex is putting between them like a thick glass wall.

If she's still angry, she's not showing it – but she's not showing much of anything else either. His partner, when she's really trying, can be one of the most inscrutable people he's ever met…and at the moment, all the barricades are up. He knows that he could quite easily provoke her into bringing them down – but he also knows, with a certainty that he can't explain, that riding roughshod over her feelings like that (again) would only compound the damage already done.

So he waits and watches...for an opening, an overture, a signal that she's ready to talk, or at least to listen.

They crack the case, catching Ernest Foley in a very public – and unnecessary – lie in front of all his mother's patrician friends…on the strength of which, Bobby privately dubs him the most pathetic murderer they've collared in a good long while. When they get back to One PP they leave him cooling his heels in a holding cell, waiting for the Harrington family's new attorney to drag himself reluctantly away from the office Christmas party – or so they gather from Foley's (increasingly frantic) end of the phone conversation.

The bullpen is almost empty…no surprise at ten pm on a Saturday night. Logan and Wheeler pulled the graveyard shift for the weekend so they're there, amiably bickering their way through a pile of paperwork. Across from them, Collins and Polanski are working on something that involves a large map of the five boroughs, spread out on Polanski's desk.

As Alex passes his desk, Logan does a double-take and then lets out a wolf whistle.

"Eames…lookin' good! Hot date tonight?"

Alex rolls her eyes. "Yeah, right. We were making an arrest – had to crash a party in Westport."

"Ri-ight," Polanski joins in. "Hey Lynn, how come you never get dressed up like that when we collar someone rich and famous?"

Collins gives her partner the finger, grinning. "Screw you. I couldn't carry off a dress like that, and you wouldn't want to see me try…Alex, you really do look fantastic."

Bobby suppresses sudden amusement as his partner waves a hand dismissively and mutters her thanks, turning away abruptly to stuff her purse in her locker. He has always found it endearing that she can flip off the most blatant come-ons without blinking, but can't handle a sincere compliment to save her life.

He's also struck with envy – Lynn is saying what he's wanted to say to Alex since the minute he first saw her dressed for the party. He hates the fact that things are still so strained between them that he can't even find the words to tell her that she's beautiful...that every time she turns her head, he's distracted by the sparkle of her earrings and the soft fall of her hair. That even now, with four of their colleagues mere feet away, he has to clench his hands to keep from giving in to the need – so strong he can almost feel his fingers ache with it – to touch the strands that frame her face so prettily and push them gently behind her ears.

He's disappointed – for the second time that night – when she sits down without taking her coat off.

"Aren't you a little warm?" Wheeler asks with a knowing look. _Thank you, Megan_.

"Yeah, Alex," Collins jumps in, grinning. "Take off your coat and stay awhile."

"No thanks. I'm cold," says Alex repressively, but he can see the corner of her mouth twitching.

"Oh come on…I hardly ever get to have girly wardrobe-gushing moments like this at work," Lynn persists plaintively. "Humour Megan and I. We want to see the full effect."

"So do I," says Logan, waggling his eyebrows. Wheeler throws her pencil at him and he ducks, chuckling.

_I'm with you, pal_, Bobby thinks, silently applauding the spirit of Logan's comment, if not the execution. He feels a rush of gratitude for the four other cops, for their easy banter and the camaraderie so clearly apparent in it. Alex is having real trouble keeping a straight face, he can tell, and he realizes with a pang that he can't actually remember the last time he saw that look of suppressed hilarity dancing deep in her eyes. He's so glad of its return that he doesn't even mind not being the one to put it there, this time.

He watches her assessing the situation, considering the likelihood that Lynn Collins is going to give up now that she's got the bit between her teeth (answer: less than zero). He knows the exact moment when Alex decides, can almost hear her thought: w_hat the hell._

"Fine." She stands up, and with a flick of her shoulders, lets the black coat slide down and off.

"Whoo hoo!" Lynn catcalls, as the others clap and whistle. Bobby is suddenly very glad that Logan and the rest are behind him and to the side; that Alex is the only one who can see his reaction. She's so beautiful it makes his heart hurt, and he knows the look on his face is anything but professional and platonic…but he badly wants her to see it. Wants her to know how incredible he thinks she is.

"Turn around – show us the back," Wheeler urges.

"Oh, for God's sake," Alex grouses, but she's laughing a little and does as she's told, even putting a little hip twist into it.

When she faces them all again, her gaze crosses his.

_You take my breath away_, he tells her silently.

She flushes suddenly, looking caught and vulnerable and happy all at once – and then just as quickly she looks away.

_Probably a good thing_, he thinks, shaken. All of his senses – the ones that aren't taken up with cataloguing the way she looks so he can remember it later – are shouting _that was your moment, your signal, that's the opening you've been waiting for_ and it's all he can do to restrain himself from getting up, grabbing her hand and dragging her into the conference room to have it out right there and then.

_Although at this precise moment, I wouldn't actually want to talk, once we were in there, _he thinks ruefully.

"Happy?" Alex is saying to Lynn, mock annoyed.

_Yes,_ he thinks, smiling down at Foley's booking form. They don't talk much after that, focusing on finishing up their paperwork, but he thinks…hopes…that he can feel a change in the air between them. An easing of tension..._maybe, just maybe_.

Later, in the elevator as he and Eames are leaving, he makes a split-second decision.

"Hey, Alex…can I take you out for a drink?"

She looks at him, considering.

"Come on…it's not that late, and we're all dressed up. It'd be a shame to waste it," he says with his best pleading look.

"All right," she concedes with the ghost of a smile.

He takes her to the French place she likes near his apartment, and his luck holds – they get a quiet table in the back corner by the fireplace. _We could be coming in for a romantic drink after a night at the opera_, he thinks, watching the candlelight flicker over Alex's face. _Yeah…in another lifetime, maybe. Still, I should take her out like this more often._

"What?" she says, catching him staring. He blinks, and scrambles for words.

"Collins was right. That really is a fantastic dress. And the hair – I like the hair…" He gestures vaguely, aware that he's babbling nervously. _Oh, very articulate there, Goren,_ he thinks disgustedly.

"Thank you."

For a second, that embarrassed, pleased look flashes across her face again. Then she banishes it.

"Cut to the chase, Goren." Her voice is gentle, but there's steel in it.

_Right._ He takes a deep breath.

"Okay. I want to apologize to you. For…for a lot of things. For making you pick up the slack at work while I deal with my mother…for the way I handled – well, everything – during the Dockerty case…but especially for pushing you away and – and telling you to back off, when you tried to help."

She looks at him for a long moment. He waits, fighting the urge to fill the silence with words, with more apologies, with the litany of his guilt.

"It really bugs me that you still have so much trouble letting me in on what's going on with your mom," she says at last. "I hate seeing you get so – so twisted up and miserable, and not being allowed to do anything. It makes me feel powerless – and I really, really hate that."

"I'm sorry," he says again. "I know I promised I would try to be better – be more…open…and I did try – but when things got really bad I just…"

"I know," she says. She lifts a hand in a helpless gesture. "You're dealing with so much, these days...I don't even know how much right I have to be demanding anything."

"Don't – you shouldn't make excuses for me," he protests.

"I'm not," she says sharply. "Don't think I'm letting you off the hook here, Bobby. I'm just saying…I know that you were at the end of your rope. That's not an excuse for how you acted. It's an explanation…there's a difference."

She sighs and straightens her shoulders, looking at him challengingly.

"I was angry…and hurt…I still am. But I don't want to dwell on it. Life's too short."

"Okay," he says cautiously. "But – you've been…distant, since I got back."

"And you haven't?" she shoots back. But before he can respond, she sighs.

"I know. And I didn't call you while you were gone. I'm sorry about that. But – well, you clearly needed some space, and maybe I needed to…disengage…a little, too. For a while. It…hasn't been easy, lately."

_Understatement of the year,_ he thinks painfully. "And now…?" he says out loud.

"Now…I'm glad you're back," she says softly.

"Me too." And it's the truth, for the first time since his return.

"And I just – I don't want to fight about it," she continues.

"What should I – we – do, then?"

"Move on," she says simply. "Keep going. What other option is there?"

He takes a breath, but before he can speak she leans in. "And don't you _dare_ tell me I should cut you loose, that I don't have to put up with you or some such guilt-ridden crap."

She searches his face, and sits back with a jerk.

"You _were_ thinking that, weren't you? Jesus Christ, Bobby. I thought we were past that."

"I can't help it," he says almost angrily. "The way I've been lately…you don't deserve that. No one does. And you can explain it, and accept my apology, and say we should just move on…but the thing is, it's going to happen again. I'll try to be better, but I – I'm afraid that everything is just going to get worse."

"So it gets worse," she snaps. "We'll survive. The key word being _we_, Bobby. But you have to have a little faith in us. I can't – I can't handle you thinking that I might leave. Or that I should."

_She really can't_, he realizes, the pain in her voice cutting through the fog of his self-recrimination. _None of the other crap I've put her through matters to her as much as this._

_Of course it doesn't, idiot,_ he berates himself in the next breath. _You've known for a long time that she hates it when you assume she cares less than you do._

"I'm sorry," he says. Again. "It's – kind of a reflex reaction. I know it looks to you like I don't trust you to – to stick around. To care. But that's not it…at least, not anymore."

He leans forward, reaching a hand across the small table to touch her fingers where they're clenched around the stem of her wine glass.

"Alex, listen. What's between us is the _only_ thing I'm sure of, these days," he says quietly. He waits until she looks up at him, and smiles softly at her. "And if we had about a week, and I wasn't totally exhausted and – and screwed up over my mother, I would try to explain to you just how much of a miracle that is to me."

Her lip quirks up in a small tremulous smile, and she moves her hand, threading their fingers together.

"I'll take a rain check."

_Message received. _He lets out a breath.

"I just – I can't stand the thought that I'm making you miserable on top of everything else."

She sighs. "It's not your fault, Bobby. The situation just sucks, that's all. I wish you could handle it differently, but I know you're doing the best you can."

She frowns at their intertwined hands on the table.

"I think, maybe…it's the price of being close to someone," she says slowly. "Sometimes having to – to take the brunt of it when things are going badly for them. Just…out of sheer proximity."

"It's not fair," he says helplessly.

"No." She shrugs. "But it's okay, Bobby. Really. Eventually, things will get better. Like my mom always says – this too shall pass. And besides…"

She leans forward in her turn, the barest hint of a smile lurking around the corners of her mouth.

"One of these years, I'm going to hit menopause…and I promise you I'll be cashing in ALL of my hell-to-live-with markers then."

He chokes on a surprised laugh, feeling his throat close up a little at the natural way she's assuming they'll still be together at some indeterminate date in the future.

_Find a way to believe it too,_ he tells himself. _That's what she needs the most from you._

"Alex…" He swallows hard against the catch in his voice, and brings her hand to his lips, shaping the words against her skin.

"I love you."

She shivers and smiles, her eyes full.

"I love you too," she whispers. Then,

"Bobby."

"Mmm?"

"Let's go home."

He shuts his eyes briefly in relief, exhaustion and warm, growing desire.

"God, yes."

They walk hand in hand to his apartment, and when she slips out of her coat again in the dim light of the entryway, the words come easily to him at last.

"You're so beautiful," he says hoarsely. Her smile, too, is easy and luminous and rich with promise.

"Come to bed," she says over her shoulder, padding down the hall in her stocking feet.

He follows her into his bedroom, and when he gets there she's standing in front of the mirror above the dresser, taking her earrings and necklace off. He sits on the bed, removing his tie and shirt and pants on automatic pilot, unable to take his eyes off her slow, deliberate movements. The flex of the muscles in her back makes him catch his breath, as she lifts her arms to untangle the little hairclips…and when she reaches behind to unfasten her dress, he can't stand it anymore and moves close, replacing her hands with his.

He pulls down the zipper, lips traveling down the curve of her neck to her shoulder and back up. She breathes in deep, shifting slowly against him, and lets the dress fall to the floor, revealing lacy black underthings.

"All this for Lady Harrington's party?" he mumbles into her skin. She meets his eyes in the mirror.

"Some of it might have been for you," she admits. "I'm glad you noticed."

He flinches, and she turns quickly in his arms.

"Don't," she says. "I didn't mean that as a guilt trip. I just meant – I'm glad. Glad that tonight turned out this way. We have to seize our moments, Bobby."

He wishes fiercely that he could live forever in _this_ moment, simple and clear and bright with quiet joy, when the only thing he wants in the world is to make Alex happy, and he knows that he can.

_Not possible, Goren. So seize the moment, like she says…live it and remember it and make it a bulwark against darkness. Something to get you through till the next time such grace is granted to you. _

"Hey," she says, eyes warm and dark. "Come back. Where'd you go?"

There's no way he can find the words to tell her. _So you'd better try to show her, instead…_

"Sorry. I'm here. I know - less thinking, more…seizing…"

He matches action to the word, hands sliding down and tightening, and she gasps a little and grins.

"That's the idea."

All at once, they're both laughing softly, and she reaches up, meeting him halfway as he bends to kiss her at last.

* * *

_The winter here's cold, and bitter  
it's chilled us to the bone  
we haven't seen the sun for weeks  
too long too far from home  
I feel just like I'm sinking  
and I claw for solid ground  
I'm pulled down by the undertow  
I never thought I could feel so low  
oh darkness I feel like letting go_

_If all of the strength  
and all of the courage  
come and lift me from this place  
I know I could love you much better than this  
full of grace  
full of grace  
my love_

_-- "Full of Grace", Sarah McLachlan_

**THE END**


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